It was SO not what I’d expected him to say, that my jaw dropped. I didn’t remember to shut my mouth again until I felt cool, pizza-scented air on my tongue, and realized I was breathing out of my mouth, just like Boris.
I snapped my mouth shut. Then I asked, “You were there?”
AND YOU DIDN’T COME UP AND SAY HI??????????? Only I didn’t say that last part.
Michael shook his head.
“No,” he said. “It was on CNN.”
“Oh,” I said. Seriously, who else but ME would get their school debate aired on CNN?
And who else but MY BOYFRIEND would happen to catch its broadcast?
“I liked what you said about Sailor Moon,” he said.
“You DID?” I don’t know why this came out so squeaky.
“Yeah. And the John Locke quote? That kicked butt. You get that from Holland’s government class?”
I nodded, unable to speak, I was so astonished he’d known this.
“Yeah,” he said. “She’s cool. So.” He leaned an arm against the back of his side of the booth. “You’re the new president of AEHS.”
I folded my hands on the tabletop, hoping he wouldn’t notice the damage I’d done to my fingernails since the last time I’d seen him. Damage that was almost entirely due to worry about HIM.
“Looks like it,” I said.
“I thought Lilly wanted to be president,” Michael said. “Not you.”
“She does,” I said. “But now…well, I sort of don’t want to give it up.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. Then he let out a low whistle.
“Wow,” he said. “Mind if I’m not around when you explain that to her?”
“No,” I said. “That’s okay.”
Then I froze. Wait…if he didn’t want to be around when I explained to Lilly that I had no intention of stepping down from the presidency, did that mean…
That had to mean that…
Suddenly, my poor, shriveled heart seemed to be showing some signs of life.
“Pie’s up,” the guy behind the counter said.
So, Michael got up and got the pizza and our three sodas—he’d also gotten one for Lars, who was sitting at a table on the other side of the restaurant, pretending to be very interested in the Dr. Phil episode the guy behind the counter was watching on the TV hanging from the ceiling—and brought them back to the booth.
I didn’t know what else to do. So, I pulled a slice from the pie, slapped it onto a paper plate, and brought it over to Lars, along with his soda. It’s no joke, having to worry about your bodyguard all the time.
Then, I went and sat back down and pulled my own slice onto a plate, and carefully sprinkled hot pepper flakes all over it.
Michael, as was his custom, merely picked up a slice—seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was steaming hot—folded it in half, and took a big bite.
His hands, as he did this, looked alarmingly…large. Why had I never noticed this before? How large Michael’s hands are?
Then, after he’d swallowed, he said, “Look. I don’t want to fight about this.”
I glanced up at him kind of sharply, on account of having been staring at his hands. I wasn’t sure what he meant by “this.” Did he mean about Lilly and the presidency? Or did he mean—